


Shadow on the Wall

by LouisWinter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Dark Harry, Death Eaters, Draco suffers, Dreams and Nightmares, Humor, M/M, Muggle therapy, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Psychology, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8002786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouisWinter/pseuds/LouisWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter Auror extraordinaire is on a path of self-discovery. Armed with some good old fashioned therapy, he tries to make sense of the mess that is his life. Or maybe this is what happens when you repress your Slytherin personality. You fall in love and go madly about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> The wine of youth does not always clear with advancing years; sometimes it grows turbid.  
> Carl Jung

"How did you sleep last night?"

Harry settles into the familiar arm chair, his feet encounter the lush carpet in Dr. Brand's office. 

"I slept alright, I had dreamless sleep". Harry lets his eyes wander across the wooden shelves, glass bottles and dusty tomes of books. 

The mind healer coughs and straightens his posture, his hooked nose seems to pick up on Harry's lie.

"You do know Mr. Potter I'm aware you can't drink that potion any longer".

Harry stares straight at the man in front of him. Middle-aged and well dressed in emerald robes and sporting golden rimmed spectacles, Dr. Brand is a well-respected authority in the Wizarding world, at least in the field of mental illness. 

Harry smirks; he knows he is considered by Brand and the rest of the wizarding world to be an authority on defense against the dark arts.

It had in fact crossed Harry's mind, one sleepless night among many, as he tossed sweaty and fearful in his sheets that if Dr. Brand was right he should have been able to fight the darkest illness of all- depression. 

"Sorry." Harry replies when the heavy gaze makes him want to scratch his left ear. " I did what you said. Drank my tea, went to bed on time". 

Dr. Brand appears sympathetic but not particularly convinced.  
"I assure you my methods do work. It is simply your resistance that is slowing down the process."  
Harry nods, trying to convince himself that is very much the case. 

"Tell me about your day." Dr. Brand looks down his lap where a pile of notes sits ready; his spidery handwriting makes Harry sigh. It reminds him of Snape, somehow Harry guesses that compression won't delight the doctor. 

" I had a regular day. I woke up almost on time. Grabbed a black coffee and fire called the lady from the last case and then"...Harry is interrupted, "Excuse me Mr. Potter, what case was that?" Harry scratches his nose in agitation.

"Just a small case from last week, this lady in London claimed her cat was attacking people and it turned out to an unregistered Animagus. "

Harry smiles, recalling the frumpy old guy with a big gray mustache not unlike the cats own whiskers.

"Anyway", Harry continues. " I called to check she wasn’t planning on pressing charges against the Aurors. She wasn’t too happy to lose her pet of 10 years." 

Dr. Brand presses his hands together as he regards Harry, "Go on, what did you do next?"

Harry attempts to keep his voice even, patience running out.  
" Went to the office, said hello to the guys, the usual, drank more coffee." Harry omits the fact that his coffee breaks allowed him to avoid the rest of the Aurors for most of the day. 

"Any disturbing thoughts?" Harry looks away.

" Mr. Potter, this is a waste of time, for both of us. Don’t you want to get better?" Harry feels his chest constrict and remembers the exact same words. 

He was standing in his kitchen with Hermione, shards of a recently broken glass between them, Hermione, face red and her usually sharp eyes obscured by tears.  
Dear clever Hermione who didn't know how to fix Harry. 

"Well, don’t you want to get better?" The words were uttered in such a defeated tone that Harry almost jumped in alarm.  
They were arguing for what seems like hours. Ron left under the excuse of getting some Pizza and Harry was still trying to argue his way out of this one an hour later.  
Harry couldn't remember why he was right, only that he needed to win this argument because surely Hermione was wrong. 

"I don’t recognize you anymore, you don't go out with us, and you don't talk and Harry"…He looks up just then, "you lie" she whispers. Harry looks down in shame but already the familiar lies are on his lips, begging to burst. 

Hermione was right, god if only the lies weren’t so much better than the truth. "Sorry Hermione, I really am."  
Harry walks away before the words on his tongue cause any harm. 

She was right. He lied about many things.

At first, he just lied to get away from work. It wasn't really a problem, after so many violent cases anyone would have given him a break. 

Three years an Auror and about as many cases solved as articles printed about him in the Prophet, Harry could have asked to be put on desk duty or to just take a holiday, but no, instead he made excuses. He lied to avoid what he could not do. 

"No Hermione, you know I just I don't have time to date" or- " Sorry Ron but I think I can't make it to the pub tonight, yeah yeah everything's fine mate". 

Harry avoided work, his friends; he avoided meals and most of all he avoided the night. The night was the hardest, like the day it held its own expectations of Harry.  
Unlike Ron and Hermione, it didn't expect him to do the right thing. 

The problem was rather the opposite; the night seemed to want him to do the wrong thing. 

When Harry awoke from another nightmare, a scream stretching his lips, teeth cutting into his cheek, Harry wasn't worried. 

But when he awoke from the same dream a few days later (body twisted and pillow on the floor) pleasure coursing through his veins as images of torture and flesh still fresh on his mind, Harry ran to the bathroom and threw up his dinner. 

That was when Harry started lying to himself. No, of course he did not enjoy those dreams and of course those images of violence did not make him wake up with a smile. It was a reaction to too many long hours of fighting crime and nothing more. Harry was happy for a few days.  
He even had Ron ask him what he was so happy about.  
"Mate did you meet someone? Who is she?" Harry wanted to celebrate- his nightmares turned into good dreams. Harry was free. 

For the first time in his life he could sleep without a silencing charm, a potion and that glass of water on his bedside.

If the dreams that made him feel good were about torture and pain, so what? It was perfectly reasonable dreaming material for a diligent crime fighter. 

He was just happy he had caught the evil bastards who were doing this. He was dreaming of catching those monsters and punishing them for their evil. And what could be wrong with enjoying that?  
Then things started going wrong, very wrong. 

Dr. Brand coughs; it is his polite way of reminding Harry their time is limited, and Harry remembers with a grimace- expensive. "I thought about birds". 

"Birds?" Dr. Brand sits up, his face lights up in interest for the first time.  
Harry nods. "Yes, birds. I had a dream about them". Harry assumes telling the dream about the birds is preferable to the one about people. 

"You know that entrance to the ministry?" Dr. Brand nods, "I always walk so fast I never stopped to notice, but there is a small fountain, just before you step in.  
It always has small birds drinking from it, sparrows, and sometimes even ravens. 

They just sit there together drinking the water.  
I walked by yesterday and I saw them, and I thought nothing of it." Harry's breathing starts speeding up, "but last night I saw myself very clearly walking past the fountain and stopping, just like I did that morning. I had my coffee in my right hand burning my fingers. 

This time, the birds froze as I walked by, and I turn around, I look straight at them. And…and I'm filled with this rage, I'm just so fucking angry. These birds stare at me and it makes me go mad. I take a step closer and I..." Harry swallows; this is harder than he thought. He looks up and into Dr. Brand's eyes, "I kill them, with my bare hands. I do."  
Dr. Brand's eyes are obscured by a sudden ray of sunlight that slips through the window and only as he leans forwards Harry catches his excitement. "That is wonderful Harry! We can really work with that".  
Harry can’t take it. "What are you talking about? Don't you see what this means?" 

"I wanted to kill them- and every night is like this….every night I just hurt, kill and destroy. This isn't normal!". Harry is standing up now. 

"Sit down Mr. Potter, of course this isn't normal or you wouldn’t be here would you? But this is your mind trying to tell you something and that I must say- is my specialty."  
Harry isn't convinced. "I don’t know what is happening to me". 

"I have a theory Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid our time is up. Why don't you keep a journal, write down all your dreams, we will continue this fascinating discovery next time."  
Harry stands up and automatically reaches to shake Dr. Brand's hand, it is warm and delicate. 

Harry doesn’t care, if he has to stay in this stuffy office with this overly polite doctor for one more second, he will start screaming.

As the door shuts behind him, "goodbye Mr. Potter", Harry starts walking briskly. "yeah right, birds".  
As Harry crosses the street towards his apartment and reaches for the door handle, a big black raven grazes to his left. Harry just looks at him, his jet black feathers sparkle in the late afternoon sun and Harry thinks that perhaps …it will all be alright. 

***

The next morning Harry wakes up and his head feels light, he steps out of his bed and reaches to open the window.  
Below him, the busy street on a Monday London morning greets him with full force. 

The slight wind blows at the white curtains and brushes away the last wisps of sleep from Harry's mind.  
The flat is a mess, clothes and papers scattered everywhere. 

Harry likes his small apartment; he likes the clean white walls and the shelves which are overflowing with pleasant memories. 

The walls are full with everything long past and gone: Hogwarts a History Hermione gave him as a present, proudly exposed to all who enter along with some old bottles of long dried ink from fourth year, and even a Snitch. 

All gingerly welcome potential visitors into his flat, assuring them they have reached Harry Potter, Boy who lived. 

The image is perfect, a white canvas with spots of Gryffindor red and gold to add warmth.

It is inside the wardrobe and underneath the bed that some less pleasant truths sit. Under the bed, a trunk with broken childhood toys and a sock once belonging to an elf along with a cruelly shattered mirror. 

The messy desk holds some letters written in despair to one Severus Snape, begging for just another veil of dreamless sleep, the writing is hectic with each letter up to the last one where sharp letters clearly read: Fuck you Potter, and don’t ever write to me again, a polite response to Harry's desperate threats. 

Harry doesn't dare write again, but he does show up on Snape's doorstep several days later.  
Exhausted and beyond despair. Snape takes one look at him and barks "come in".  
Harry drags his feet along the tiles of Spinners End. He is not that far gone that he isn’t surprised at the coziness of the place. 

He tries to apologize for interrupting Snape's reading, eyes darting towards an open journal at the foot of a green duvet.  
Snape just waves his arms, something between demon exorcism and a "get on with it". The room is overflowing with books and smells faintly of cinnamon. 

Harry takes a deep breath; this is going to be a hard one." I came here for your help. And before you say anything, you know I wouldn’t come if this wasn't urgent." 

Snape sits down and stares, his face unreadable.  
"You Mr. Potter have clearly reached the limit of you own deranged mind if you think I'm going to help you."  
Harry shakes his head, "I'm not asking for your sympathy, I'm not." Harry is on the verge of panic he falls into the chair opposite Snape and pleads him with his eyes. "I just need the potion for a few more days and then I promise you I won't bother you again." 

Snape grunts, some unnamed emotion glitters in his black eyes.  
"Sympathy aside Potter, I will be committing a crime. seeing as you cannot consume anymore Dreamless Sleep, not unless you wish to end up dead." "In fact." Snape glares, "You probably already caused additional damage to that brain of yours." Harry feels defeated, every muscle hurts, time seems to drag while every heartbeat sends sharp pain in his chest. 

"Not a big loss there, right professor?" Harry looks down into his lap, what was he thinking coming here like that? Snape was right, he is losing it. 

"Quite right Potter" pauses, "would you like some tea?" Harry looks up in shock, Snape is already standing with his back to him, a kettle whistles. 

Harry laughs. "yes, I would sir." A minute later with a tea clutched in his hands, Harry feels better and even a tad guilty. "I'm sorry for all the letters. I wasn't in my right mind…" Snape sips from his cup his dark eyes sharp as ever. 

"Indeed, I especially liked the last one... What was it? "Give me my potion you useless old Death eater with an exaggerated moral sense?" Harry drops his head with a thump on the table. 

"That was very wrong of me." Harry peers through his hair but Snape seems strangely calm, there is something uncanny about the way his eyes are focused on Harry, their dark depth hiding some activity, solving a riddle or piecing together a particularly difficult puzzle. "I am surprised your nightmares bother you as much." 

"It is my line work you know? Being an Auror adds up some new memories."

Snape just sips more of his tea. They stay silent and Harry finds comfort in that moment.  
His mind is clear then it has been in weeks and he is resolved to fight this- whatever this is.  
So Harry goes back to his flat and decides it is time to try therapy.


	2. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  There is no coming to consciousness without pain.  
> -Carl Jung

It was late Thursday afternoon, when Harry finally finished off his last case report, signing his name with a flourish in red ink.  
He stretched his long legs on his scruffy table and blinked owlishly. The weather was horrid, the air standing still in wet coldness but without the freshness of an actual drizzle. 

The day wasn't very promising. Harry counted six cups of coffee, all Ministry flavored, meaning- burned and muddy with just enough aroma to attract desperate wizards. He was feeling restless, like waiting for something unknown and unnamed. A low whisper chanting in his chest- something is going to happen, beware. 

Harry shook his head in denial, really it was just a regular day, what with his hair matted awkwardly on his forehead but standing upright at the back. Harry attempted one last time to flatten the angry mane, before giving up and grabbing his trench coat. 

It was time to get out of here. 

***

Usually, Harry preferred field work; it was in his nature to take action, to dive forward into danger. There was something thrilling about those moments when time stopped and only fluid movements between life and death remained. 

No matter the situation, Harry would be first to face a curse thrown and to successfully attack the cause. The more powerful the opponent the swifter and more elegant were Harry's movements. He hated them to the point of physical sickness, those wizards.  
Dabbling in dark magic, he could smell it on them. The air was static with the power of darkness. He recognized it, so similar to the taint Voldemort's soul left on his precious objects turned Horcruxes. 

No wonder he was the youngest Auror to date. Harry was still hungry for it after three years. In fact, if he was honest with himself the hunger seemed to only grow with each battle, each passing moment where he could taste the acidic taste of dark magic on his tongue. 

Shocking his body into a mode beyond fear, full of fight and hate and anger and such alarming passion he felt his heart might burst. This is what kept him alive, that chased away numbness and allowed Harry to keep going. 

Harry's loathing for dark magic was a favorite conversation topic for Draco Malfoy. Debating the ins and outs of the subject seemed to be the fuel which allowed them both to overcome their childhood animosity without letting go of the mean banter and competitiveness, which always characterized their relationship.  
By the time Harry apparates in front of the Manor gates, the skies smoothed into cloudless velvet blue.  
A loud pop followed the appearance of a small familiar house-elf, who prompted Harry to enter with frantic long fingers. Harry had never seen it so anxious and he wondered not for the first time, if the Malfoys enjoyed torturing the poor creatures.  
"Master Harry must not be here!" The elf, Shelby, squeaked, her huge golden eyes kept darting back towards the house. Harry took a cautious step forward, "what is it Shelby?" The elf pounced in response to push him away, landing on his chest. It had long fingernails and Harry grimaced in pain. He attempted to disentangle the mad elf from his scarf but to no avail. "Danger! Danger, Master Malfoy says no one enter".  
The Elf was now shedding big tears and other fluids all over Harry, who tried to gently comfort the creature. The skin was surprisingly leathery soft beneath his fingers. Unfortunately, It simply kept crying and mumbling, at last Shelby lifted her big head, and Harry sighed in relief. "Red all red", it cried with vengeance, "Blood all over. Mean mean master!"  
At that, Harry didn't bother with attempts at comforting and threw the elf off to run fast towards the entrance. The door was open as he knew it would be, usually welcoming him on every mid-month Thursday visit to Malfoy. 

Harry slowed down his movements and took a deep breath. Making sure his wand was at the ready, he knew there was no point in hiding his arrival, as the wards were practically buzzing with it. He entered into the dimly lit hall, it looked peaceful enough.  
His instincts told him something was amiss, too dark. Usually, Malfoy liked to thrash about after sunset, lighting candles and fire places with obsessive vigor while grumbling complaints at Harry. He was unable to stand the stillness of night since the war, and so every evening Malfoy would turn the manor into a blazing torch of fake cheer. This time, Harry had to whisper a quick Lumos. 

Harry entered the drawing room and stopped in his tracks. He was greeted with quite a sight. The familiar white room was red. The ceiling and walls, the carpet, were all crimson. The only white was a huddled figure on the floor. Appearing out of place in this new reality and luring Harry towards it with slow shaky steps. He knew it was blood, but his mind stopped in panic, he was afraid to find out who or what the white bundle was.  
Eventually time wasn’t on his side and Harry had to look down.  
She was beautiful, was his first strange thought, and she really was that. He didn’t know her. A young woman, raven-haired, with a long neck that exposed smooth skin, If not for the bright gash across her chest, which no human could survive. Harry reached to find a pulse, He felt numb. "Dead", he whispered hollowly.  
He then heard a muffled sob and turned around to find Draco Malfoy standing at the far corner of the room, his back turned to Harry. He too was covered in crimson from head to toe. Harry felt his numbness simmer into familiar rage. "You bastard!" He intended for his voice to convey his anger but instead he sounded broken, Draco Malfoy was his friend. So Harry took a deep breath and said what he had to say- "I'm calling the Aurors".  
That seemed to do the trick. Draco turned around, still heaving as if he forgot how to breathe. "Harry I…" another loud sob, "I didn’t do it". Harry felt his rage rising again, "What did you do Draco?" Malfoy stops crying at the sound of his name, it was rare that Harry used it and usually took some fire whiskey to happen. He turned around but still held his hands protectively over his face. "Can you come over here? I don’t think I could bear to see this again", He whispered. Harry doesn’t think Draco is in any position to ask him anything. 

"Potter, just do it. If you have any trace of that famous Gryffindor loyalty in you". Harry startles, oh what a manipulative bastard. At least now Malfoy composed himself enough to meet Harry half way across the room, from where the white woman isn’t as visible. 

Up close, Malfoy's face was ghostly pale and his eyes so frightened, that Harry shivered. Malfoy looks completely broken, which was a sad sight considering Harry thought he would never have to lay eyes on a broken Malfoy again. After the war, Draco rebuild himself, he found his happy ending and Harry envied his ability to move on. Gradually regaining his family fortune and starting a successful business in India. Not illegal, but not very kind to human rights. Hermione told him it was a Sweatshop of sorts. 

He secretly thought Draco was able to thrive as he did because at heart he was a simple creature. All he needed was money and the Malfoy name to drawl out at various fancy dinners. He was happy to have power and material comfort.  
As a true hedonist, Draco was easy to please. 

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't fire-call Shackelbolt", Harry keeps his voice firm. Draco trembles, a fine sheen of sweat across his face, making him look like some stranger to Harry. "You will have to call him. I'm not stupid, I know how this looks." 

Harry is getting tired. Instead of tea and scones and a charmingly annoying Malfoy, he had to deal with this mess.  
Squaring his shoulders he nudged at Draco until he was sitting at the edge of the nearest chez-long, like some broken marionette. "Malfoy, you better start explaining things, we are running out of time". 

Draco nodded and straightened his back, placing delicate hands in his lap in a composed gesture while staring into some unseen distance. Harry was anxious to get this over with, he probably broke more Auror procedure rules then he could count, and every passing moment wasn’t helping. "Start from the beginning", Harry decides that rules be damned. When Malfoy chose to be honest, he tended to get this far away look in his eye, like now. Appearing composed yet almost humble.  
Without the usual flare of haughtiness and seductive charm, Malfoy looks young and lost- an angle waiting for judgment day. 

"Draco." He whispers gently, "tell me everything". feeling guilty, Harry thinks that perhaps he has misjudged his ex-nemesis and now is his chance to correct that.

"It was normal Thursday. I had breakfast with mother and decided to take the day off. I owled the office to let them know I was busy, the weather being this dreary". Harry chokes down a scoff at that, but Draco doesn’t notice. "I knew I would be seeing you today, you know?" Draco looks up with such an earnest expression, Harry looks away. "I thought today would be wonderful. It started raining at some point and that's when I went to call for Greta. "Greta?" Harry asks and Draco blushes, "She is a companion", he looks pointedly at Harry. "Some of us need pleasure, unlike others, and Greta is very lovely, a pureblood that ran away from home." Draco adds fondly, "She is adventurous like that."  
Harry can’t help it, "Is she the one on the floor right now?" Malfoy goes pasty white, oblivious to the fact the Harry muttered a recording charm and was interrogating him. "I'm not sure…it all happened so fast. One moment I was deciding what champagne we're going to have and the next moment I come back here and… Draco goes silent. "Mother is going to freak, she loved this room." 

Harry has to pinch him on the shoulder to make him continue. "Ouch! What was that for?" Draco glares angrily at Harry who stands up and replies as he calls for backup, time is up; "Oh I don’t know, maybe for murdering a prostitute?" 

"She wasn’t a prostitute," Draco spits the word with dignity and stands up. Finally, some color returns to his face, Harry notes. Draco tries to say something else but the loud cracks of apparition drown out his voice. He manages to shove a piece of paper into Harry's hand, eyes desperate. Harry squeezes his arm in reassurance before anyone can see, turning the squeeze into a grasp. "Draco Lucius Malfoy. You are under arrest."  
***  
Soon the Manor is a hectic hive of activity. Harry answers questions as best as he can, staying professional and detached. The murder victim is Greta Leroy, a French pure blood runaway. In itself not too unusual for her age and position, if not for the fact she decided to sell her body. The blood is collected in samples, and the Manor closed off to any intruders. Harry knows, the Aurors are in no rush to look for another suspect, blood spattered Draco seems a good enough candidate. That is why Harry wants to be part of Malfoys interrogation, but Shacklebolt insists he return tomorrow. "You have done enough Harry".  
"Could we at least keep away the press?" Kingsley considers him a moment before giving a curt "yes". Harry is relieved, for Draco's sake as much as for himself. There is no avoiding the questions; no amount of privilege can erase the fact he once again found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, and so, he is grateful. 

***

Only when he steps into his pitch-black flat, hitting his toes and hissing a "Bloody, table", does Harry remember to look at Draco's note.  
He stalls at reading it. For some reason, he can't shake off the feeling he is in trouble and not Draco. Reading the note would mean facing that buzzing unease that followed him since morning. Instead, Harry decides to take a shower, leaning his forehead on the hot tiles as the fumes make his skin prickle pleasantly. Harry lets the warm water wash over him. 

He feels his muscles relax and his eyes slowly fall shut. He imagines Draco, spending the night on a hard chair in the stark interrogation room but can’t manage to feel too horrid about it. They wouldn’t let him sleep; Instead Aurors would try and get a confession while they can.  
Harry was lucky Kingsley knew not to jump into hasty conclusions; he will wait to listen to Harry's side of the story before pushing harder at Malfoy. Sometimes, being known as the "Boy who Lived" had its uses. Although Harry genuinely respected the minister, he also felt uncomfortable in the man's presence. Something about Kingsley's integrity made Harry feel like he needed to prove himself. 

He only felt this way with Dumbledore, and after all this time Harry came to recognize how depended he was on the Wizard for approval. Kingsley, like Dumbledore dedicated his life to fight dark wizards and like him, he believed Harry to of importance to the cause. Sometimes Harry felt he would never escape expectations, but sometimes he felt like he wouldn’t know how else to live.  
His dedication the cause and his genuine hatred of all dark, reminded him he was doing the right thing. He grew up alright, hadn't he? He didn’t just survive, Dumbledore would surely be proud.

Harry turned off the shower and padded with moist feet to the cozy living room, wrapped in just a towel he left shiny foot prints all over the wooden floors. Setting a kettle for some tea Harry was jolted wide awake by the cool night, he hurried to close the window. 

Next, he followed his usual nightly routine, checking that the numerous wards on his flat were all in place. He then went and got some pajama pants on and curled on the sofa with his journal. He never thought he would need to use it; it was a gift right after the war, from Ginny of all people.  
She said something about needing to let feelings out, being as Harry wouldn’t talk to her. It was an elegant journal, green leather binding and cream sheets of paper. Harry was warmed by the gift at the time, and made sure to keep if with him until he finally settled in his own flat. 

When he started therapy, one of the first conditions was daily writing. At first, Harry found that silly and tedious, his hand writing stood in stark elegance to the beautiful pages, crawling sideways like it wanted to run away from this cruel fate. Harry had to agree, he was not fit for dairy writing. Unlike some Dark wizards who seemed to enjoy writing about their many accomplishments and crimes, perhaps because they didn’t have any real people to talk to. Harry imagined young Tom Riddle, friendless and desperately needing to share his greatness with someone. Harry wasn't like that; he had actual friends in his life. 

Dr. Brand suggested Harry write down his dreams, something about them being truer than reality and a door to the true self. Harry used red ink to sketch out words, images, things he could remember. It was hard at first, but over time Harry found the routine helped him unwind after a long day. Harry uncorked his ink bottle, chewing at the end of his quill, feeling he was forgetting something important.  
The note! How could he forget? Harry leaped from the sofa and fumbled through his trench coat pockets. Here it was - a small note.  
Harry swiftly unfolded the parchment, it smelled like Draco's cologne, somewhat spicy. Harry sneezed and his eyes watered and vision swam. When he managed to focus and smooth out the parchment he read: 

" _Hello again Harry, I hope you appreciate my little red gift. Look for the shadow on the wall."_  
_Yours_  
_TMR_

__The handwriting so familiar draws chills all over Harry's body and makes him feel so small. The familiar prickles of fear, of being unsafe, alone and weak, envelope Harry and he slides to the floor. Harry drops the note, his heart beating frantically in his chest as he tries to grasp some meaning, some words that can let him breathe again._ _

___It couldn’t be real. Draco was playing some nasty game with him, he must be._  
As Harry sits there, on the floor, grasping for a stable thing to hold him together, his fingers find the half chewed quill. Still dripping red accusatory marks all over the place, almost like it's hurting, Harry stared forward in a trance and writes.  
It was me, wasn’t it? 

__He closes his eyes, when dawn unfolds, chilly and fragrant with autumn leaves. The dairy answers._ _

__**No Harry. It was us.** _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I'm not so happy with this chapter. I feel like I still want to get to know Harry better and to warm up into his daily life. *


	3. Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _A man who is unconscious of himself acts in a blind, instinctive way and is in addition fooled by all the illusions that arise when he sees everything that he is not conscious of in himself coming to meet him from outside as projections._  
>  \- C. Jung

_"But the glass, where did the glass go- and the snake, where is the snake?"_

_Harry wakes up in panic; vivid images of a winking snake still linger, imprinted at forefront of his mind. "Brazil", Harry mutters as hot sunlight blinds him into unwanted wakefulness._  
But the heat is London sunlight. Rare but glaringly warm when present.  
Great, apparently he fell asleep leaning against the wall, now his back and muscles are stiff.  
Cautiously, Harry stands up on wobbly feet. Glancing suspiciously at the journal still clutched in his right hand, but the pages are as pristine and innocent as ever. It feels as if he is thrown back in time, to the days where his younger self lived with the Dursleys. Back when he didn’t believe in magic. 

_Not until Hagrid came, bearing the truth with him, as heavy as his steps. Knocking down all of Harry's defenses, bringing magic to him- a gift wrapped in glittering hope._  
So Harry remembers that and picks himself up the floor. He walks drunkenly down the hallway to the bathroom, leaning heavily with two arms against the sink. Harry's heart is beating loudly in contrast to the silence that surrounds him.  
When the air shimmers; Harry fears he is losing control of his magic. In just another moment- the mirror would break, the wall would crack. Perhaps the shards of glass would fly violently and cut his skin, leaving scars to remind him- This was the day when you went barmy.  
Harry shakes his head at the dramatic vision, but nothing breaks just yet. The intact glass is foggy when his reflection materializes.  
The skin around the eyes is tired pink, casting purple shadows that bring the alluring green of his eyes into focus. Harry splashes cold water on his face. Some of it drops on his bare chest, making him shiver.  
Whatever the mess he was in now- It was just another truth, one among many in a never-ending hallway. Each curtain revealed a new door that proved to be just another beckoning passage.  
This was no more than just another such reveal. 

**  
Apparating outside the Ministry, Harry takes a deep breath before entering.  
The Atrium is crowded with chatting wizards and nervous looking secretaries, who are rushing comically about with stacks of papers to their chins.  
Standing out among the crowd are the few purebloods, the only ones too dignified to visibly rush anywhere, no matter the occasion- dignity comes first.  
They grudgingly greet Harry with a curt nod, faces grim.  
They remind him too well of Death eaters- even now their faces are like masks floating above robes in dark shades.  
Harry just answers with a rude stare- until they look away. Today he is wearing his "don’t mess with me expression"- eyes unblinking and eyebrows furrowed. It seems to be working. Walking briskly to the lifts, he is in luck- one of the lifts is empty except for a bored looking girl in bright red boots who is chewing bubblegum.  
Harry awkwardly stands beside her, his current mood suddenly out of place. She offers him a piece and he accepts.  
The gum is cherry flavored, melting in Harry's mouth. He counts the seconds to the interrogation floor. With a sharp bling the lift arrives and Harry smiles at the girl, feeling just a tad better.  
"Bye", he says, still smiling, relieved. He is not really good with strangers.  
The door to Kingsley's office, is slightly ajar, loud arguing voices carry through, one is outraged the other appeasing.  
"You don't seriously propose to let him walk free? " - a pause…"sir." "I've said no such thing. But the way your Aurors have been going at him- you may end up on the other side of the law." 

Silence again and then- " My Aurors is it now Minister? A loud screech of a chair follows and before he has time to move away the door disappears leaving Harry face to face, with his very angry boss.  
Harry tries to recoil- "Good morning, Sir I was just…" Dawlish just huffs and pushes Harry aside, before turning around- "Potter, maybe you can talk some sense into him".  
"Sir?" Harry tries to follow but Kingsley interrupts him- "come in Harry, I was waiting for you." 

Kingsley looks grave behind his table. His hands are clasped tightly in front of him.  
The office is too hot and Harry tugs at his collar nervously.  
"Sir I'm sorry for eavesdropping-", Kingsley waves his hand towards the only chair in the room and sighs.  
"As it goes this is exactly the matter I need urgently to discuss with you Harry."  
Seating himself at the edge of the chair Harry composes a serious expression. "Is it Malfoy?" Kingsley pulls out a brown file and drops it ungently on the desk. Anyone else would think he was being rude but Harry knew this was the Minister in full action mode, not a man for wasting time with pleasantries. 

The ex-Auror opened the file and continued- "Yesterday Malfoy was taken into custody as the sole suspect in a murder case. We have been interrogating him for hours- he won't confess or change his story. Yet my instincts tell me he is hiding something." Here Kingsley looked sharply at Harry- "perhaps he told you something valuable?"  
Harry automatically shakes his head "I don't think Malfoy did it, he was very upset when I found him and frankly sir" Harry hesitates before coming to a decision- "he may be a lot of things but a murderer? No."  
Kingsley sighs, "you are his friend so your judgment may be clouded but I must say I agree with you, nevertheless it is our job to find the killer.  
I won't be putting you on the case- officially, but I might need you to stay close to Malfoy, find out more. It is probable it is someone who he knew or maybe his father did".  
Harry thought that was an understatement considering Malfoy's father was a Death eater and could boast knowing other cold-blooded killers. Harry stands up when Kingsley looks away, taking his cue to leave.  
"I will do that sir. Can I see him now?" The minister nods absently "do that Harry."  
***  
The corridor leading towards the integration rooms is bleak and too bright. The long empty walls are indistinguishable from the doors that lead to the heavily warded rooms.  
A somber guard leads Harry and they stop in front of room 99, he gruffly allows Harry to enter. At first, Harry is a bit dazzled by the heavy lights and the strange scent in the air.  
Blinking he recognizes the figure hunched over in the center of the room. "Malfoy!" Harry rushes towards him the second the guard disappears.  
Malfoy slowly straightens his posture and a shocked sigh escapes Harry, it takes minute to recover.

"Who did this to you?" Malfoy laughs but his voice comes out broken and he starts coughing.  
"I look lovely don’t I?"  
Harry drinks him in, the pointy aristocratic features are barely visible, a large bruise in hues of blue and purple covers Malfoy's left eye and his lips are closed tightly together to bite away the pain.  
The usually immaculate silver hair is a dirty blonde and standing up in wide chunks. 

"You look wonderful", Harry answers dryly. Malfoy looks dreadful the more Harry stares at him, so he looks away.  
As the minutes pass the silence grows. It is not uncivil just endless, no answers comes to Harry's mind.  
When he looks up, Malfoy is sitting composed with his head held high, and Harry thinks he made the right choice,  
Malfoy is too proud for hysterics. What little of his left eye Harry can see is staring right at him shrewdly.  
"You know Potter; I was hoping you can get me out of this mess." 

"They are releasing you today, no?" Malfoy stands up in sudden fury- "released? Are you daft? Do you know how hard I worked to build my reputation and now this? Then Malfoy is laughing again and the sound makes Harry shiver.  
"No you wouldn't understand" Malfoy leans heavily on the desk.  
"I called Snape for you"" Harry says. Malfoy relaxes his shoulders; finally, he nods his head and sits back down "thank you, I appreciate it."  
A truce and Malfoy is almost Draco again, broken and in need of a friend.  
"Listen, this would all be all right" Harry thinks he is rubbish at comforting people, not having had much of that growing up but Malfoy seems to appreciate his attempt.  
Now to business- "The note you gave me last night…Where did you get it?" 

Malfoy shrugs "She gave it to me. Obviously-"Malfoy drawls the word- "I was covering you and didn't say anything. Not a word out of this pretty mouth".  
Here Malfoy looks sadly at his hands before wiping disgustedly at said mouth. 

"Or maybe you don't remember a thing?" Harry goes on a hunch.  
Malfoy pales "of course I do!" Harry continues with vigor- "Maybe you don’t know where and how you got the note? Maybe…That scares you?" Harry hears his voice go lower almost foreign to him.  
"Merlin Potter cut it out! You're really starting to worry me. I might not remember getting the note but I do remember it was for you."  
Harry leans back in triumph and folds his arms. "I knew it."  
Malfoy glares at him "What did it say?" But just then the guard arrives followed by a tall dark shape, it is Snape. 

"Interrupting anything gentleman?" Snape's dark eyes are sharp as they take in Draco's bruised face and Harry's aggressive stance. 

"Not in particular, just another day in my sordid life." Malfoy replies.

Harry swears Snape's lips curve upwards in an almost smile. "Good, then I will be most obliged to take you home."  
He looks strangely at Harry, "Mr. Potter would you like to accompany us?" 

***

The outside world is pure sunshine and fresh autumn air, and Harry is cheerful at once. Even dragging along a Malfoy and Snape seems small in comparison to the small joys of freedom.  
Harry whistles a happy tune, hands in his pockets as two former Death eaters converse behind his back. He is leading the way according to Snape's commend, once in a while Harry turns back his head in question but Snape just grunts "keep walking".  
Eventually,they are far enough from the Ministry that Harry decides this is suspicious and they should have apparated ages ago.  
They reach a muggle street, stopping in front of a small playground.  
"This way" Snape orders them through the park, and he and Malfoy shrug and decide to follow the old bat. The brown leaves crunch under their feet as they reach a stop, Malfoy sneezes loudly.  
"Well?" Harry raises an eyebrow, "We are going by untraditional transport today", Snape curtly announces. He doesn’t seem too happy about it. Harry looks around, the very regular surroundings- a tree, a parking lot, mother with a toddler…" Malfoy starts rubbing his hands together "I bloody well would welcome a hot cup of tea right now". Snape takes another step forward and Harry gapes- "You can't be serious?"  
A car, Snape is pointing at a lime green Subaru.  
Malfoy starts circling the vehicle "How does this work?"  
Snape takes out a shiny key from his robes "You drive it, obviously". 

Soon Malfoy is hunched tightly with Harry on the backseat "I will not have anyone of you distracting me", as Snape turns on a growling engine.  
"I didn’t know you owned a car, Sir!" Harry shouts above the noise.  
Snape just glares at him while adjusting the mirror "Your godfather wasn’t the only one using muggle transportation for missions."  
Harry is speechless contemplating that and soon they are on their way. 

Malfoy keeps gripping the front seat in horror and looks rather sick, Harry can't blame him- Snape's driving is utterly terrifying. The car zooms fast past red lights and green alike, several times Snape nearly collides with a tree. 

"Sir! Shouldn’t we slow down?" Harry tries but Malfoy grips his elbow painfully "I'd rather get this over with fast".  
Poor Malfoy assumed this was the way driving was- "how do muggles stand this?"  
Harry gives up explaining after a sharp turn to the right leaves him and Draco squashed together painfully, legs in the air. 

Finally, the long journey is over and a smug Snape exits the car "are you coming?"  
They take a moment to recover staring at each other and Draco mouths "he is utterly mad" and Harry smiles. 

They have reached Malfoy Manor but Snape leads them to the gardens where they enter a small shed. Inside the space is much larger and grander, and Narcissa Malfoy is there. She is sitting by a large table surrounded by roses and exotic flowers. Her face is stony as ever but when her eyes land on Draco Harry flinches in fear. She composes her fury fast and greets her son with hands outstretched.  
Malfoy isn’t as coy and grasps her in his arms "Mother". 

Snape and Harry look away. A large cluster of mirrors hangs between the rose bushes and leafy monsters that cover the walls, and it feels utterly surreal- this garden home. 

Narcissa extends her delicate hands towards Snape "Severus" He leans in to kiss her hand.  
Harry fidgets in place but Narcissa zeroes in on him like hawk; "Mr. Potter". This is the first time she has addressed him directly. Ever since he started coming to Malfoy Manor they have been avoiding each other. 

"Hello" Harry manages lamely but he needed have worried as her gaze shifts worriedly to Draco - "Let's get you patched up". Harry never knew how practical she could be. In seconds, Draco's bruised eye is mostly healed and a house elf ushers him away to take a bath.  
The table is suddenly covered in in dishes that smell delicious and their tea cups are full with hot amber liquid. 

Harry sips his tea and quietly observes the way Snape's face stays stony and unreadable as he looks at Narcissa.  
He thought they were friends but now he wasn't so sure- trust wasn’t easily found in Slytherin circles.

"I want to know what my son's situation is". She is looking at Snape but Harry seizes the opportunity- "he is still a suspect". 

Like a mother eagle she turns her head "of that I'm perfectly aware Mr. Potter" her eyebrows knot in confusion- "would you like to share anything with us?"  
Snape too is staring at him.  
Harry leans back and explains "Your son is not the prime suspect - I believe they are looking into other leads. Maybe someone who is the enemy of the family? I was hoping you could tell me more."  
And then Narcissa smiles and it is frightening, like seeing a marble statue blush. 

"So there is hope still" she whispers dramatically.  
Harry rolls his eyes, he is really starting to think purebloods are the silliest creatures- wasting so much energy pretending to not care. If there's anything Harry learned from Draco it is that beneath the façade they all had hearts; twisted, proud hearts with a deep passion for life and living.

"Ms. Malfoy, can you think of anyone? Did you or Draco receive any threats?" 

Narcissa just sips her tea "nothing recently, we were finally left alone. Draco has been working wonderfully hard to build his business. At first, there have been some threats, people trying to stop him from succeeding". 

Harry knew as much but he still wondered "what about anyone…from your old circle?" Snape made a coughing sound, "your attempts at delicacy are unnecessary" Narcissa said. "If you're asking if any Death Eaters have been a nuisance- no. I believe we all just wanted to do our best to gain what we have lost during the war, taking care of our families and their future." 

Harry nodded in understanding, voicing a theory "Could it be someone who was opposed to Draco's relationship with the…lady?" Snape made that sound again and Harry turned around "If you want to say something say it" Snape glared at him-  
" It is nothing Potter…Just you characteristically missing what is right under your nose". Harry lifted his eyebrows "what the hell are you implying?"  
Snape's glare turned poisonous.  
"Selfish as always Potter, you are the cause of misery and the center of attention".  
He said it so coldly and Harry wondered if he was missing something but Narcissa interrupted.  
"Severus that is enough, he really doesn’t know."  
Harry felt his heart constrict "know what?"  
Narcissa waved her hand "It isn’t of importance but I must ask you- "do you care for my son?" Harry wasn’t expecting to ever talk about that.  
"I do Ms. Malfoy, that if why I'm here."  
Narcissa gazed at him a few moments before coming to some silent conclusion "good. That is all that matters. He cares for you and I won't have that be his downfall."  
Harry doesn’t like the sound of that- "what do you mean?" 

Narcissa looks at her lap where Harry notices for the first time a small gray kitten.  
"Like I have said before, things have been going really well for us. Our reputation has strengthened and our resources amplified. But Draco…he wasn't doing as well. Until you showed up and I saw him open up to his new life, here she gave Harry a measuring look- "I'm not sure what he sees in you but the changes have been positive." 

Harry doesn’t know how to reply to that compliment.  
"You have voiced a theory someone was opposed to Draco's fumbling about with that…woman." 

She spit out with contempt. "Has it crossed your mind someone was opposed to his relationship with you?" Harry leans away from her "oh".  
Snape ungently adds " indeed oh."  
Harrys is getting sick of both of them, why did Slytherins have to make everything so complicated? He stands up and starts circling the table while thinking aloud.  
"You really think the murder was timed to my arrival?" Narcissa picks up the kitten and stands up. "I do not know what to think. I only know little troubles have started following Draco since you arrived. He cares for you too much to have admitted that." Harry sees her fierceness, her protectiveness for her son that was always there.  
"Thank you for telling me". She nods at him, and perhaps Harry imagines it but her gaze isn’t as cold.  
"I will do my best to help" Harry promises and means it.  
Just then Draco enters, his hair damp but immaculately brushed back, face rosy.  
"Isn't he quit the hero mother?" Harry looks away, embarrassed.  
Draco cheerfully sits down, pulling back his silk sleeves and digging into a cherry pie with a blissful expression. 

"Yes dear. Why don't you have some of that pudding?" Harry just shakes his head and passes the pudding. 

***

Later, after he manages to leave the Malfoy's Harry is feeling uneasy. The trickles of guilt he attempted to ignore are clouding his thoughts. He arrives right on time at Dr. Brand's door.  
Snape's words still ring in his ears; the man always had an ability to get under his skin. The waiting room is small and in stark contrast to the Malfoys luxurious rooms and Harry is thankful for the change. He remembers the first time he arrived here. 

At first, he was reluctant to talk to anyone. He imagined spilling all his secrets to some stranger who would keep staring at his scar in pity, or worse- gaze at him with admiring eyes, hero worship at its finest.  
Surprisingly, Dr. Brand was different. He never asked Harry about the war, preferring to talk about dreams and Harry's daily routine. Harry didn't completely trust him, but he did find himself slowly following the healer's instructions, bizarre as they could be.

Today, Dr. Brand announces they are going to do some shadow work. Harry is sitting conformably, outside he hears cars passing in a rhythm. The mind healer is gently peering at him as if the announcement was some sort of gift. When Harry fails to show any excitement he looks disappointed.  
"Do you know what this means?" Harry lets himself feel anger.  
"I bloody don’t. Why is it everyone assumes I should know things? I never do." 

The healer looks bored. "You don’t know anything?" He asks, and Harry feels his anger die away and the words pour out of him.  
"It's not that I don’t know, it more that when it comes to people- I'm never really sure. I don’t even try and understand how they feel towards me or the other way round. I'm never sure when they care or when they are pretending."  
Dr. Brand smiles, " good, good. You see Harry it is not about knowing it is about understanding.  
That is what shadow work is all about- we go into your mind and we see things in a new light- we bring them up so we can understand them more clearly. It is a beautiful process." 

Harry nods but he has no idea only a guess "do you mean bringing up memories?" Dr. Brand shakes his head, eyes twinkling.

"Memories are false. They are how you interpret an event – they are what you believe to be true about it. The shadow is something else- it is what is there before you form a bias, an opinion. It allows us to explore how you feel and think and see if maybe some of these memories are stopping you from really seeing clearly."

Harry thinks he understands, he remembers looking at memories with Dumbledore in the pensive. They both saw the same memory but Harry knew that if the same event was seen by someone else- they would have seen something different.  
"Alright, I think we can do that" Harry says.  
"Let's start with rejection. I want you to remember the first time you felt rejected." 

Harry thinks that is easy - "the Dursleys rejected me, they called me a freak." The healer waves his hand in dismissal. 

"What did you do about it?" Harry looks at him in confusion. "Do about it? I was a baby and then I just ignored it." 

Dr. Brand shakes his head enthusiastically "of course but when you did react to it?" 

Harry thinks hard "I think I did magic for the first time I…I freed a Snake, I talked to it. I mean it wasn’t about them but then I knew they were right and I was a freak. It was strange." 

"You talked to a snake Harry?" The voice is neutral but Harry feels his heart rate go up.  
"I can talk to Snakes." For some reason, his voice sounds meek and almost apologetic.  
"Say that again Harry and this time think about rejection, feel it". "I don’t need to say it again I-" "oh but you do." 

He takes a deep breath "I'm a Parselmouth, I can talk to snakes."  
Dr. Brand leans forward "again Harry, this time like you mean it." Harry flushes "this is stupid."  
The Dr. just stares unwavering "again Harry."  
So he does." I'm a Parselmouth. The only one living in the world. I have Slytherin's dark gift ok? I'm a freak deal with it!"  
He is panting loudly in the silence of the room.  
Harry is shocked when a loud clap sounds; Dr. Brand is flushing and clapping slowly. 

"Wonderful! We have found your shadow."  
Harry doesn’t know what that means but from some reason he does feel better, lighter. 

"I still know nothing." He says with a small smile. The Dr. Answers it "oh but you do- you do." 

 

The twilight greets Harry as he exits the session, he feels drunk with an emotion he can't name.  
He promised to go meet Hermione tonight; it was the only way she would leave him alone.  
They decided on a muggle pub called Moonshine, though truly the place was mixed with wizards that came there frequently to enjoy the atmosphere and cheap drinks. Harry wasn't afraid of getting recognized there, it was that much a shit hole that no one cared.  
When he arrived it was just starting to rain and many people were pushing in find a table. It smelled like wet wool and tobacco.  
"Harry we're here!" But he already spotted the bushy hair in the corner and made his way. 

She wasn’t alone, Ron was there beaming at him with some paper umbrella behind his ear, and Luna too was placidly staring right through him.  
"Hi" Harry smiled and hugged Hermione who gave him a strong squeeze 

"I'm sorry I didn’t tell you but they all wanted to come and see you" She whispered in his ear.  
Harry didn’t mind "it's alright Hermione I'm glad you came."  
She was smiling in relief and just then someone bumped loudly into his back "The Harry is here!" It was George with a pile of beer bottles in his arms.

"We really missed you mate" Ron was happy to shake Harry's hand and Hermione indiscreetly mouthed "tipsy".  
Ron stood up with his drink and announced "I'm as sober as the next man, to my friend!" Before downing the drink and falling happily back into his bench. "Hi Ron" Harry could not help but smile. George shoved a cold beer to his face and started telling a long story about why he was there alone. 

Harry only half listened as the conversation carried easily without him. He felt like an idiot for rejecting this- this warmth as outside it rained, surrounded by friends who were kind enough to just want to be with him, asking for nothing. As the night and drinking progressed, Harry told his friends about his car ride with Snape.

"No" Ron was shocked "that ruins his image forever", he then smiled devilishly "wait until I tell dad he's going to love it."  
At some point Harry remembers getting up and dancing with George to a live band consisting of two girls with pink hair and a big bearded guy that reminds him of Hagrid.  
Tired but happy Harry slumps down next to Luna as the others go to looking for the loo " How you doing Luna?"  
She leans her head on his shoulders "It is a wonderful full moon day". Harry chuckles and pats her gently on the head "it is Luna". He relaxes his eyes and lets them wonder the pub where everyone seems to be having a good time. 

"Who is this person with you all night? I don't think I've ever met him." 

Harry looks down the blond head on his shoulder "Who do you mean Luna?" 

She raises her head and points to the other side of the room "him. He's been following you all night I think."  
She wrinkles her nose "it is not very polite of you not to introduce him." 

Harry laughs "I don’t know who you're talking about, is it some kind of full moon thing?"  
Luna shakes her head and her pink feather earrings tickle his chin.  
"I don’t think so, although the full Moon day makes as whole again." Harry just shrugs and looks at the corner. It is the darkest part of the pub but Harrys notices a figure sitting there, the shadows obscure the face but he thinks it is male.

"You want me to go say hi?" He doesn’t know where the idea comes from but Luna smiles "good idea Harry".  
He stands up on slightly unsteady feet and moves across the room. He feels hot and bothered even with his robes off as he pushes through the chattering crowd and clouds of cigarette smoke.

Just as he reaches the strangers table he stands up and swiftly walks away "hey wait!" Harry hurries after him, hours of Auror drilling lessons coming useful. "Clear your mind, pursue suspect" Harry mutters and admits his mind is far from clear. He follows the figure towards the staircase; it is definitely male and tall. Harry doesn’t know why he is following but it feels the person is running away from him personally. They run up the narrow stairs of the pub, Harry's not fast enough.

As he reaches the floor the stranger is gone. Feeling uneasy but stubborn Harry looks around, the walls are covered in old records and posters, the soft sound of music carries words: " He claims I suffer from delusions -yet I'm so confident I'm sane" Harry starts climbing-" It can't be no optical illusion so how can you explain shadows in the rain..."  
Finally, he spots a red ladder leading to the roof, he leans against it- it is shaky at best but it’s the only way out. Harry grabs the ladder and climbs out; into the cold night air and wind that ruffles his hair. 

The roof is a large flat surface, starkly dark but for the few lights on the streets below and it is empty. Harry turns around to leave, feeling like a fool but something catches his eye, it is a pile of old junk left by the owner of the pub. Broken chairs, toys and a table with three legs, it is the mirror that caught his eye reflecting the full moon. 

"How romantic" Harry mutters" is this part where I start confessing my undying love or something?"  
Harry breaths in deep the fragrant air and walks to the edge of the roof and looks down at nothing.  
He feels he is being watched so he turns around swiftly, wand at the ready. A heartbeat of nothing and then as he looks down again he feels a presence.  
The stranger is there coming closer in measured steps. Until he is standing an inch from Harry, isn’t as tall as he thought. "Who are you?" Harry asks and tries to see better but it's too dark. 

The face is that of a young man, smooth skin and strong chin, the confident eyes shine and he smiles horribly.  
"Tom Riddle" Harry gasps, and it is him "you are dead!" Tom just purses his lips in mock thought. 

"How well articulated, perhaps it is the part of undying as you said before". 

Harry closes his eyes and counts to ten and opens them again but he is still there, in fact, now he is standing even closer and Harry can feel his body heat. "Real?" He asks because his knees are weak and he can't move away.  
"Oh yes, real" Tom softly gazes at him, not smiling that horrible smile anymore, just watching. 

"I've been waiting for so very long to be real, to not live in the shadows." He looks around the roof like some theater character on the edge of confession. "I yearned for it but never hoped that you will see." 

"You can't be real" Harry shouts and with a last bit of courage shoves Tom away. "  
Tom freezes in place; he touches his arms where Harry pushed him, a look of wonder on his face. "As enjoyable as this was I don’t appreciate such crude physical violence."  
Harry stares in shock he wants to curse him, "you don't?" is all that leaves his mouth before he tries and step forward. 

Tom waves a hand while looking up "it is a beautiful moon Harry. Next time do try making better use of my time."  
Harry straightens himself "I want you to go away. I don’t want to ever see you again. You are nothing! You are just a dead memory." 

Tom looks at him, a silent figure in a painting- all languid lines and beautiful symmetry.  
"Oh Harry but memories hurt" and he shoves Harry off the roof.

Falling down feels like forever and all Harry can think is "mine always do".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't updated the story "real" life really got in the way. I can only promise not to abandon the story and do my best.  
> Thank you for reading and your reviews are deeply appreciated.  
> *Song quoted: Shadow in the Rain by The Police.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language so please let me know about any horrible mistakes that need correcting.  
> The rating is certain to go up next chapter.  
> Thank you for reading and comments of any kind are alway appreciated.
> 
> To those of you who are British, I apologize. I guess tea, scones and bad weather don't do you justice...Perhaps we need more Severus Snape?


End file.
